


seasonal change

by tenderwrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Use of the Word Fire, Inappropriate Humor, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Satori's Up To No Good Again™, Shiratorizawa, Swearing, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Teasing, Teenage Drama, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, season metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderwrites/pseuds/tenderwrites
Summary: The passing of time comes with the passing of seasons, and each season brings about their own change to the landscape and atmosphere.Summer, with its heat and fun times, when introductions are made and challenges are posed to mutual rivals.Spring, with its blooming flowers and warm sunlight, when disappointment is apparent and comfort is needed for broken hearts.Autumn, with its warm coffee and falling auburn leaves, when friends share bonding moments and another impossibly heartfelt one.Winter, with its biting winds and white-streaked streets, when lovers learn to appreciate the passing of time and each other.





	1. summer

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down at my computer one day with a mug of water and decided that since I had free time, I would try writing a Haikyuu fanfic for the first time ever. It's been a long time since I resumed writing because of obligations I had, like school and me being emotionally incapacitated about even attempting to post something simple online. Well, I'm over it now (temporarily) and hopefully, I can grind out all 4 chapters of each season's metaphor before my week of holiday ends. 
> 
> (Of course, I have a habit of making rare ships my main ship, so that naturally leads to pain and suffering. I've accepted my true calling as a rare pair shipper, so here's the gratuitous fic about the rare pair.)
> 
> Hope you like the story! Characters may be mildly out-of-character. Please bear with me if they are :')

It’s right in the middle of the summer when Kenjirou stumbles into the school compound of Shiratorizawa Academy, and marvels at the sheer size of it. Past flashbacks of volleyball courts and kept promises flit through his mind, and he cracks a small smile. Then, he is brought back down to reality and he remembers that he is no longer his junior high self, and he is wearing Shiratorizawa’s uniform.

Before joining the scores of new students heading towards the school hall, he tugs on his loose tie, putting it in its proper place. First impressions are everything, especially when you get accepted to a school you have been working hard to get in for so long.

Satisfied with his appearance, he lets out a sigh to calm himself, before he is swept up in the storm of well-dressed students and the crackling of a distant microphone somewhere inside the hall.

\---

“Shirabu-kun, you didn’t need a scholarship to get here?” Prying eyes and shocked expressions crowd round Kenjirou’s table as he tidies up his notes for the day and much to his amusement, a few of his classmates look towards his open book bag as if his mediocre notes were the only thing they needed to pass every exam. He decides to humour them before seeking out the volleyball club’s gym. After all, most of his classmates earned a place in the academy through scholarships, and for brief moments like this, he wants to feel powerful.

“Nah, I took the entrance exam.” This delivers much anticipated gasps of surprise. Despite himself, Kenjirou almost feels proud of himself. A voice in his head echoes: _I studied hard so that I could play with strong players._ He thinks that other students’ opinions of him do not matter; as long as he can play volleyball the way he wants to, he feels fulfillment. With that motto firmly embedded in his moral roots, he bids goodbye to his classmates and heads for the direction of the gyms, noting the correct turns he takes and the wrong curves he heads.

When he reaches the gym entrance, the first thing he sees is the wide expanse of the luxurious courts laid out in front of him and a sea of volleyballs discarded on the floor, as if someone is practicing. Sure enough, he soon spots two members of the volleyball club working at their spiking set-ups. Both are clad in the standard Shiratorizawa gym uniform, a black shirt and magenta shorts. Kenjirou recognizes them as second years; the redhead and the ash blonde upperclassman. Previously, he had seen them in the club as mere freshmen, together with Ushijima-san. From afar, the redhead seemed eccentric but nice, and he had slender fingers and good game sense. Middle blocker was the perfect position for him, but Kenjirou wasn’t too concerned about him then.  

“Again!” The redhead calls out to grab his partner’s attention and the brunette catches sight of callused fingers hoisting the ball towards the former, sending the ball over the net with a satisfying slap.

The setter, on the other hand. There is a determined yet triumphant expression tacked to his face like a sticky note to a notice board, and Kenjirou notes, with blunt observation, that his eyes seem to give off dissipating flames. However, it disappears shortly after, with the entrance of a sudden new presence in the gym.

“Oh! Eita, come say hi to the new meat!” The redhead bounces over excitedly, startling the first year. The middle blocker’s tired eyes scan over him from head to toe, as if determining his health statistics.

_Ah, so his name is Eita. Also, who addresses their underclassman as ‘new meat’?_

“Just a moment.” _Eita_ jogs over from his position on the court and gives a small and nervous smile to Kenjirou, who returns it in the same fashion. The two of them are taller and have virtually more muscle mass, but intimidation has never worked against the brunette. Much rather, he prefers to face his rivals head on.

“Hi, I’m Kenjirou Shirabu and I play setter.” At the word ‘setter’, the ash blonde perks up from absentmindedly bouncing a ball and the small, neutral scowl on his face vanishes completely, replaced by dissipating flames against the backdrop of a night sky.

Kenjirou thinks that fire is dangerous, yet impossibly beautiful all at the same time.

“You came by that day to see us play, right? I saw you by the banisters.” The shorter male nods at this, and turns a little pink at the realisation that someone saw him, full of admiration for this volleyball team and its strong, capable players. The redhead cocks his head in confusion, then brushes it off as if it were a slight annoyance. Kenjirou, on the other hand, harbours a shred of irritation against _Eita_ for unintentionally exposing and bringing him down, all in one layered sentence.

“I’m Eita Semi and this is Satori Tendou.” As soon as he stops speaking, Tendou-san gives him a playful punch which deepens the crease in between Semi-san’s eyebrows. This makes Kenjirou raise one of his own, as he looks between them unamusedly. He browses through his mental memory and checks again that yes, he did come here for the volleyball club, not a family comedy show.

" _Semi-semi,_ I can do my own introductions, you know.” The nickname carries a hidden mocking tone, and both Eita and Kenjirou pick up on it immediately. However, the taller male takes one for the team and nips Satori in the arm scaldingly, making him hiss in pain and ultimately, retreating to a safer position and away from Eita’s glaring eyes. The dissipating flames have been upgraded to a fiery inferno, and Kenjirou wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of one of Semi-san’s cutting glares.

“Go practice your receives, you ass. And didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“...Geez, what would Reon say? Your fingers are absolutely murderous.” Satori complains and ignores the reminder wholly, pouting as he retrieves a ball from the nearly empty cart and lines up with Eita again to get some solid receives in.

As Kenjirou watches their exchange, he can’t help but feel as if something is missing. Sure, he did come here to seek out strong and powerful teammates to play with, and he would find them later on, but he couldn’t find a reason for the outlandish emptiness in his chest.

He settles for watching the pair play, and decides not to think about fire.

\---

After formal introductions and administration matters, the team falls into an old but changed rhythm, with the newly appointed captain taking charge and leads the new first years into a warm-up routine that they will do for all of their three years spent in the academy. Kenjirou feels a wave of excitement overtake him and once he has completed his warm-ups, he looks around the gym.

There’s Kawanishi, whom he struck up quite a bit of friendly conversation with and learnt that the taller boy likes hot pot and cartoonish comic books. Kenjirou hopes that he can make friends with the ginger, provided that his people skills can suffice and that he doesn’t make a fool of himself on the first day. There is always an indecipherable expression on his face, an enigma he hopes to break as time progresses.

Of course, there’s also Ushijima-san in all his glory. In between periods of studying for the entrance exam, he would watch tapes of old Shiratorizawa matches and watch the fluid yet violent movements of his spikes. Most of them had two things in common: they soared past enemy defenses and simultaneously broke each and every player’s expectations and confidence. With the ball landing on the opposite court with every resounding smack, a silent vow was made in the setter’s head.

_I want to be able to let Ushijima-san spike as freely as that._

Now, Kenjirou can see for himself the person that he has admired for years, and he finds himself again feeling the emptiness in his chest. Disappointment wades its way in between the strings of his heart, as he sees Tendou-san chatting animatedly to Ushijima-san and talking about some shoujo anime that the first year could care less about.

 _Maybe_ , Kenjirou thinks to himself, _maybe I wanted to build some sort of emotional rapport with Ushijima-san._ He sees that now such a thing is almost impossible to achieve, and that his red-haired upperclassman is the only person who even tries to make casual conversation with such a blunt person such as Ushijima-san. However, he is not a emotionally fragile person, and all he does in response is to shrug mentally and move on. He also gives them his well-wishes, as the adoring eyes and fond smile on Tendou-san’s face blatantly gives away his heartfelt desires.

 _I didn’t come here to see juvenile relationships blossoming,_ he thinks resignedly. At the very least, he can still see Ushijima-san’s spikes in all their monstrous magnificence, now being one of the club’s official members. His setter position in junior high provided him with a place above the rest; he and his setting skills had made sure of that.

He hopes that he has made a good first impression on Washijou-sensei. The man seems harsh for his age and sometimes stays quiet while watching the team go about their day, but Kenjirou knows the old man is watching fervently, taking note of each and every player’s strengths and weaknesses. He seems to be even more observant than Tendou-san, which the brunette didn’t think was possible.

_He’s the coach, after all. Someone’s gotta point out the mistakes once in a while._

He moves on to observe someone else. There’s Yamagata-san, who looks towards the first-years as if they are children waiting to be coddled and showered with tender loving care, and Oohira-san, who shares the same sentiment but gives his support to the entire club. He takes note of the names should there ever be a need for it, but Kenjirou’s main concern as of now is the fact that Semi-san is looking towards him, something indescribable present in his eyes.

His mother once told him that phoenixes were born out of melting ashes. He brushes this strange remark out of his mind and feels a shiver crawl up his back, its cold talons sinking themselves into his shoulders. It is not often that Kenjirou remembers what his mother told him at a tender age, but her gentle voice reverberates in his mind more times than he would like it to.

Eita shifts and changes his warm-up position and Kenjirou almost misses the searing look that is cast his way. They lock eyes for a fleeting moment before resuming their own activities, Kenjirou standing around waiting for the coach to blow his obnoxious whistle and Eita to continue stretching out his muscles. The first year wants to appear unruffled, but in contrary, he grits his teeth in response and turns his back towards his upperclassman.

The meaning of the look is simple, but it proves to be a complicated one.

_I won’t let you take my position._

\---

With one final whistle from Washijou-sensei, practice is officially over and Kenjirou heaves a sigh of relief, all while picking up the scattered balls and dropping them in the cart. It signals the end of the first day and he feels raw, as if every part of his body is burning from exertion. After wheeling the cart back to the storeroom, he heads for the locker room. The door is wide open and Kenjirou notes, with distaste, that teenage boys are still teenage boys, even if they come from a prestigious school. After all, he does have his unkempt habits too.

He finds his bag in one of the lockers and rummages around in it for his neatly folded uniform, but does not manage to find it before the sound of a locker banging next to him startles him more than it should. He peers up from the caverns of his bag and finds himself looking at Semi-san, who is very much shirtless and is engrossed in tuning out Tendou-san’s brain vomit. The latter is whispering to him animatedly and there is a plain old smirk plastered across his face, extending to both cheeks.

_Well, two can play at the banter game._

Kenjirou gets dressed quickly and slings his book bag over his shoulder, as if preparing to leave. With a mock yelp of surprise, he bumps into Semi-san, making the dress shirt in his hands flutter to the floor, dirtying it and making the ash blonde narrow his eyes at him once he realizes what has happened. The entire locker room is silent, save for the running of water from the shower cubicles situated further inside. There are no third years present, much to Kenjirou’s delight.

“ _Oh_ , I’m sorry Semi-san. I didn’t see you there.” The comment comes off as apologetic on the surface, but if dug deeper, it is sarcastic and serves to fulfill another more sneaky purpose. Behind Eita, Satori senses the seriousness of the situation and urges him to be level-headed, but the setter has no time to be calm.

He needs to teach _his_ underclassman a _lesson._

Eita corners Kenjirou in front of his locker and waves the now dirt-streaked shirt in front of his eyes, all for him and no one else to see. At this dramatic show, Satori rolls his eyes and understands that this kind of situation cannot be resolved with peace anymore, but with childish and insulting banter between the two. He stands next to Yamagata, who resumes packing his clothes into his bag as if he had anticipated this would happen all along.

“You dirtied my shirt.” He spits out with malice at the younger setter, beginning a heated discussion. The fire is back in Eita’s eyes again, and Kenjirou almost gets a sense of satisfaction from seeing him get so riled up. _Oh, what would he give for another one of those burning glares again?_

“It was on accident, Semi-san. Do you really expect me to personally wash it for you?” Kenjirou replies with about as much heat, bordering on disrespectful. The rest of the locker room looks on with curiosity and lingering concern, and even the sound of warm, running water has stopped. There is steam coming to rest at the bottom of the tiled floor and both of them stubbornly remain in their positions.

Kenjirou looks down at the distance between them and decides for himself that Eita is way too close to be comfortable.

As the first year is formulating yet another scathing remark to throw at the taller boy instead of running away, Eita growls, out of turn, and grabs a part of Kenjirou’s attire, slamming him against the locker door and making him wince in pain. The first year’s eyes widen in a dazed manner and the searing glare is back on Eita’s face, which turns the first year’s initial shock into a sense of achievement.

“Listen here, _brat._ I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not going to give up my position that easily. You’d better work your ass off before you even consider giving yourself the privilege of thinking of trying to take over me.” Eita scolds the younger boy harshly, eyes trained on him and hand scrunched up in his top, which he thinks is the most effective method to get through to Kenjirou. Much to his chagrin, the first year smirks slyly instead. Eita loosens his grip on the shorter male’s shirt at this, wondering to himself whether he had come across as too rude. After all, he was dealing with his junior, not a delinquent.

But then he thinks to himself twice again, and decides that a delinquent and Kenjirou are about the same level as of now.

“I’ll hold you to that, _Semi-san_. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have assignments to work on at home.” It’s a signal for Eita to release the boy from his clutches, and after a few moments of shared glaring, he grants Kenjirou his freedom and watches as he waves to the others as if nothing happened at all. The honorific has been twisted into a grotesque insult by a mere first year, and Eita feels more frustrated than he should.

Running a hand through his sweat-messed hair, he lets Satori stride over to him with a disapproving look on his face. Disapproval on his friend’s face has never been pretty and Eita feels his insides collapse into a void in the pit of his stomach.

“Eita, do tell. Why are you picking fights with the first years?” Satori folds his arms condescendingly and it reminds the ash blonde of when Washijou-sensei lectures them, which makes him shiver involuntarily.

He offers a weak, “I’m...not?” as a reply and this makes Satori _tsk_ repeatedly, all while jabbing a finger against Eita’s bare chest.

“You could’ve at least put some clothing on when you lectured the boy. He left the room so quickly, it’s almost as if he’s embarrassed. Also," Satori's eyes glint with mischief. "You were kind of encouraging him towards the end. 'Work your ass off?' I think it's his ass that  _you_ want." Eita’s cheeks turn the color of Satori’s hair and he swiftly delivers another one of his signature pinches to his friend’s arm, who is too busy howling with laughter to care for any kind of basic human decency.

“Slamming him against the wall also pushes the boundaries of kinky, if you ask me.” Satori finishes, a winner's grin highlighting his entire face. The redhead is  _this_ close to being brutally murdered in his sleep, but the second year setter settles for banter instead. 

“...Says the guy who has a big, fat crush on _Wakatoshi_.” Eita counters, and he can’t stop the few chuckles that come out of his mouth as he instantly turns his friend into a tomato-red, flustered mess, as Satori muffles his groaning with both of his hands clasped over his face. He finds it endearing that at the very mention of their team’s ace, Satori blushes all the way down to his neck and is rendered helpless. 

“You said you wouldn’t mention that!” The redhead manages to stutter out indignantly, his hands flailing at his sides and his face still a dark shade of red. Eita prides himself in the fact that even if he has to endure Satori’s endless teasing, he still has something to hold leverage on the red-haired middle blocker over. 

“Alright, lover boy. Let’s go back to the dorms.” On the way back, Satori continues talking about My Hero Academia without a care in the world, but Eita understands that it is his way of calming himself down. After all, someone as romantic as him needs time, and the ash blonde prefers to see his friend happy, if not okay. 

Satori has been through enough, and Eita understands this more than anyone else.  

So, he stays mostly quiet, and listens to Satori rant about his interests.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taichi liking cartoonish comic books is kind of a headcanon of mine. The poor boy almost always never gets mentioned in writing or art ;_;


	2. spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter! It involves losing at Spring High and banter between two idiotic friends.

There is a distant ringing in Eita’s ears and it worms its way through his ears, until all he can hear is the ringing. The non-stop, high-pitched ringing. It almost sounds like a whole gymnasium of spectators erupting into thunderous applause and shrill whistling.

Ah. It isn’t ringing, but indeed the latter. His hands fall to his sides as he registers what just happened.

He only took notice of the ball landing on their team’s court, and multiple eyes of his teammates filled with horror as the outstretched hands that were reaching, _reaching_ to bring the ball back into play--stopped short of it and collapsed flat onto the floor. Eita feels as if his feet were nailed to the floor; powerless and his own hands are useless in the face of a ball going with gravity’s flow.

_Fuck you, Newton. Fuck. you._

He glances over the net to take a gander at Karasuno. Their orange-haired and bubbly middle blocker is screaming at the top of his lungs, endless ounces of determination set between his eyes and his ability to outshine absolutely everyone standing on the court. His setter’s eyes are engulfed in burning flames and his fists are tightly balled, and Eita can see that their reactions are shared by everyone on their side of the court.

On their side, there is a wave of magenta spilling over onto the floor. Shiratorizawa is baffled. As everyone comes to terms that they, an unbreakable fortress of power; of skill, was beaten by a previous powerhouse school of black and orange, Eita has no time to comprehend their failure before the disappointment hits. His own eyes have turned misty and as blur as the spectator stands are, he can gawk at his teammates’ tears of desolation.

“Farewell, my paradise.” He hears Satori’s mournful voice and almost lets his tears fall freely, but in lieu of appearing defeated, he rips apart his voice and lets out a cry of determination, one that promises that one day, they will break every single one of Karasuno’s defenses and leave them broken in the gutter.

But for now, all he can do is gnaw on his teeth and be as rageful as he can. His spirit may be torn in half for now, but he will hang on for the sake of his team.

He abandons the warm-up corner and charges through the barriers like a deranged mule, only stopping to gape at his friends’ pale and forlorn complexions. They walk as if holding a funeral procession and Eita grows even more enraged at this.

_We are Shiratorizawa. We are the undefeated champions._

_…_

_Yeah right._

He reigns in his anger like taming a rabid beast and instead runs to greet the rows and rows of Shiratorizawa students that have been wrecking their voices for them, placing a gentle hand on Reon’s shoulder and looks away in the hope that the gentle giant can pull himself together and be there for their beloved juniors.

Juniors. Where is that insufferable _brat?_

He swipes at his damp eyes dismissively and pokes his head towards the right. The once haughty and disrespectful first year he knew was now a second year official setter, and yet while with tears pooling in his eyes, he makes Eita want to smack the self-deprecating thoughts out of his mind. Better yet, maybe give him one of his hell-on-earth pinches to snap him out of it.

_What kind of legacy are you going to have after inheriting my position?_

Kenjirou’s shoulders appear to Eita as if they have the heaviest weights perched upon it and the third year can no longer tell whether he wants to be a selfish prick or a self-pitying bastard. Eita’s hands bunch up for the umpteenth time that day and he thinks that he should spare his teeth from another round of self-induced torture.

He stays deathly silent until they reach the locker room, where he drapes a cool towel over his head and waits with bated breath. A few of his friends head for the sink to wash their faces and some of them slam open the lockers without the usual, easy conversation. It’s off. Everything is off about it, and Eita abhors it when his team is in the depths of a losing mentality.

In a flash of blinding swiftness, he punches the nearest locker, startling Tsutomu and making him yelp with a high-pitched voice. The towel on his head comes to rest on the floor, and the entire locker room is keeping their big mouths shut.

“Eita--” Yamagata begins, but is met with a glare of such ferocity the libero settles for letting him continue. He pushes himself off the bench and stalks over to Kenjirou like a ghost, which shakes him up for the first time in his life. Eita can see him shuddering from the recent crying and the second year refuses to make eye contact with his senior.

“...Stop that.” The voice that tumbles out of the ash blonde’s mouth is soft, and it tastes of encouragement and understanding.

“...I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Semi-san.” This time, the honorific is genuine and bars no thorns of sarcasm or mockery behind it and Kenjirou’s shoulders visibly relax, and he resumes packing his things. Tension in the locker room has lightened, if not disappeared, and his teammates carry slivers of conversation between them.

“Stop thinking about whether _I_ would have carried the team to victory. Being official setter doesn’t necessarily guarantee victory.”

Kenjirou sniffs, and glances up at his predecessor, his expression unreadable.

The brunette scoffs a few seconds later, a bitter smile spread across his features. “So what does? A more dynamic setting style? Do educate me, _Semi-san_.”

At this, Eita sets his eyes aflame and gives Kenjirou the gift of receiving one of his determined looks. However, the older setter has no clue whether what he is saying is getting through to the younger setter.

“No. _The team with the stronger six is stronger_.” These words echo throughout the locker room and forces its imprint on every single one of Shiratorizawa’s players. Satori is looking at him with an amused look, but Eita has seen enough of his friend’s face to deduce what his smiles actually mean.

“Motivational much? Eita, maybe you should consider being a public speaker.” Satori grins with about as much effort as he can suffice and slaps Eita on the back, which makes him beam and feel as if he can take on any volleyball team in the nation all by his own two hands. All the team needs is some lighthearted commentary from their very own team joker to regain their high spirits and suddenly, the whole locker room is erupting with dizzying laughs of exhilaration, as if Karasuno has yet to be defeated and everything is right in the world. Tsutomu and the rest of the first years look stunned, but join in the festivities anyway. Eita looks on in wondrous amazement and he offers a low five to Satori, who slaps it with way more vigor than is expected of him. By the lockers, Wakatoshi is offering a small smile and he seems worthy to bring their team to victory again.

The rest of the third years are cheering as if they don’t have a care in the world and there is a sheen of sweat on Satori’s face, and he is beaming with relieved happiness. Mentally, Eita reminds himself to thank him later, but there are other important matters at hand.

He turns to gaze at Kenjirou and the younger setter seems confused. His eyes bear with them meanings of ‘Didn’t we lose?’ and ‘ Why is everyone in such high spirits?’, but all Eita does is to throw his head back and laugh. He laughs for the team’s loss; the team’s previous disappointment; the team’s determination.

He laughs.

\---

The rest of the time whizzes by in a blur and all Eita can recall is the steady and lethargic bus ride back to the academy and the team meeting. After the debacle in the locker room, the team arrived at the meeting with giddy smiles on their faces and all Washijou-sensei did was to nod with affirmation. With their initial high buzzing down to aching muscles and tired limbs, the bus ride all but amounted to soft snoring and shifting of bodies in carpeted seats.

As he recalls being put through a wringer after their hundred serves, he knocks off a pencil off his desk as he vividly runs his mind through the bus ride.

“...Is this seat taken?” Kenjirou had asked him in a soft voice, his eyes brimming with nervousness and uncertainty. The older setter had his eyes as wide as dinner plates and he immediately cleared his belongings from the seat beside him, after processing what had just happened to him. Normally, the hot-headed brunette would have opted to sit next to Taichi, but as Eita stares down at his unread Literature textbook, he figures that whatever he said must have created a good impression of himself on Kenjirou.

Unconsciously, he starts to crack a smile and he props his head up with the back of his hand to concentrate better on the blurry words in his textbook.  

Throughout the whole bus ride, Kenjirou had his eyes closed and Eita would sneak a few glances over to check on him. He wasn’t one to sleep on moving transport, and preferred the warm comforts of his bed anyway. In the haze of his slumber, the younger setter seemed innocent and even snored for a while, without the heat of his snarky remarks or his pointed stares.

Eita found himself thinking about what Kenjirou would look like when he actually smiled, for once. It would be a much better look on him than his raised emotional walls. His mind drifts to a set of smooth and plump-looking lips and he catches himself red-handed before it wanders to a strange and unfamiliar place.

_What the hell was that?_

He straightens his posture and discovers that his cheeks are warm.

_Semi Eita, what the hell do you think you’re doing? He’s your junior, for fucks’ sake!_

He slaps himself with both hands and urges himself to focus on his final year exams revision. After all, he _is_ in his final year, and after the examinations, graduation is going to arrive, and he has no time to think about a future Shiratorizawa captain in such a provocative way.

\---

After the peal of the final bell, the teacher signals for everyone to stop writing and as she collects the scripts, Eita heaves a enormous sigh of relief and collapses into a pile at his desk. English was absolutely horrendous, and he is almost certain he sacrificed his soul to the examination demon in order to know almost everything covered in the exam. Dismissal comes shortly after and the class explodes into a whirlwind of frantic answer discussion and low groaning.

Satori almost kicks down the door to Class 1 and he bursts through the entrance with both arms raised and a sly smirk on his face.

“Eita! What are you lying down there for? You look like someone ran you through the meat grinder!” He knocks on his friend’s skull and gets a frustrated hum from the third year in response.

“Get me away from here, Satori...” Eita mumbles into the surface of his graffiti-scratched desk and not a few seconds later, he is dragged along the corridor with a hyperactive Satori leading the way. The ash blonde screams out endless apologies to the poor students walking along the corridor like decent human beings and he is almost certain they are going to be reprimanded by a passing teacher. Why, of all things, did he ask his parrot of a friend to bring him somewhere unknown?

“Where are we going?!” Eita screeches in the general direction of the redhead and all Satori does is shoot a wicked grin at him, which does not spell innocent at all. Rather, it means that he has ulterior motives, and the setter does not appreciate anything being hidden from him.

“Wherever your heart desires, of course!” _What?_

As soon as they come to a giddying halt, Eita takes some time to compose himself and makes sure his hair does not make him look like the product of an insane asylum. He then surveys his surroundings and notices that they are standing in front of a second year classroom, specifically Class 4. A few students glance irritatingly in their direction and Eita mutters a quick apology to them again. Few people can keep up with a ball of energy such as Satori, and he is definitely not one of them.

“...Why are we in the second-year corridor?” The middle blocker stares at him as if he had slapped him.

“...To look for Shirabu-kun, duh. Did the exams destroy your brain cells?” At this, Eita is dumbfounded and he glares at Satori accusingly, who holds up both of his hands to defend himself physically against a verbal onslaught. He wishes he could apologize once more to the students walking along the corridor, in order to make up for his friend’s stupidity.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“Because...you like him?” Satori states matter-of-factly, as if he is giving a lecture on whether humans die. On the plain perspective, however, his teasing knows no bounds, and he is always a permanent pain in Eita’s neck. The only course of action now is to diffuse the situation before it gets any worse.

“Yeah, and water is wet. Good going, dumbass. Let’s go back if you don’t have anything else to do.” The superiority that Satori initially felt is lost as his ear is caught by Eita’s hand and he lets out sharp yelps of pain, all while pleading for mercy and for his friend to spare him from such calamity. They haven’t walked ten steps before the door of Class 4 is slid open and a faint ‘goodbye’ is heard.

“Tendou-san? Semi-san?” The duo is greeted with the unmistakable face of Taichi, who has an inquisitive display of facial features on for show. There is a small stack of comic books tucked underneath his arm and he is wearing a black face mask, which shields his sneezing from the rest of the environment.

“Ah, Kawanishi, how are your allergies?” Eita rushes forward to acknowledge his junior’s presence and Satori is dragged along by the crook of his ear, emitting soft noises of pain which amount to no progress of earning his freedom. The ash blonde feels a tiny sense of pride for successfully curbing any mischievousness that might slip between the cracks of his vigilance.

“‘S’alright. I’m on my way to get my medicine from the dorm. Are you here to look for Shirabu?” And as Taichi casually mentions this, all fragments of pride are shattered and Eita can feel the pure excitement radiate from Satori behind him. He mentally curses his junior’s lack of situation awareness and tries to tighten the grip on his friend’s ear, but all efforts are in vain.

“N--”

“Yes, actually. Thank you for showing us the way, Kawanishi-kun~” Satori ducks out of Eita’s grasp and slips pasts Taichi to disappear into Class 4. With this miraculous turn of events, it’s as if the entire world has come together to conspire against him. That, or he has horrible taste in friends and interests. Maybe if he took off now, no one would notice, and Satori would make a fool of himsel--

“Semi-san.” Eita is snapped rudely out of his trains of thought by Taichi’s voice, which is always level-headed and calm and the third year almost wishes he could have of kind of stoicness. After all, in past situations, his hotheadedness has caused him to regret more things than he’d prefer.

“Yes?”

Instead of a reply, the mug of Taichi’s face is twisted in a peculiar fashion, as if he is pondering what to say to his upperclassman. From his few interactions with the perplexing second year, Eita has never seen his face form into something of a inquisitive form. Usually, when the ginger male needed tips on his volleyball practice, he would not hesitate to ask for assistance. Looking back on his club activities, Eita has formed an impression that the boy is straightforward and is Kenjirou’s trustworthy friend.

Presently, first impressions are molding into something more complex, and as Taichi tries his best to formulate complete sentences, Eita understands. The boy needs time to talk to people effectively, even if he does it slowly and steadily.

“...I think Kenjirou doesn’t hate you, or at least he doesn’t harbor the same kind of hatred towards you anymore.” This catches the setter’s attention in its stable grasp, and all eyes and ears are now trained on the middle blocker’s speech and body language.

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t talk about you as if he wants to kill you. He talks about you...being you.” Taichi stammers out lamely, but Eita seizes hold of the meaning woven behind the simple words. He thinks that that has been the most he’s ever heard Taichi say all in one go.

“Ah. Thank you for telling me, Kawanishi-kun.” The ginger bids goodbye with a wave of his hand, before he erupts into a sneezing fit. Thankfully, the comic books are unharmed and Eita ensures that he is alright before grounding himself back to reality.

He slides open the door to Class 4 and steps inside, only to find Satori harassing a very disturbed brunette. Most of the second years have dispersed and the classroom is nearly empty, save for the students doing their cleanliness duties and the even fewer students who stay back to study. Kenjirou is one of them, and Eita notes, with exasperation, that he isn’t getting much studying done with a newer and noisier problem in front of him.

“Oi.” Arms folded, lips downturned in a frown which dents his features, and Eita hopes that he seems intimidating enough for Satori and his wild escapades.

“Crap, the FBI found me.” A sheepish smile is offered to the ash blonde on a silver platter, but he is having none of it. At the sudden arrival of Eita, Kenjirou huffs a sigh of relief and he nods towards Satori, who dares to display a betrayed expression on his face.

“What FBI? That’s all the way in America, dumbass. Now quit making a fool of yourself. Our junior needs to study.” Eita grabs the back of the redhead’s uniform and drags him away from the scene of the crime. “Excuse us.” He mentions this to the rest of Class 4 before exiting the classroom as quickly as he can, without causing his idiotic friend and himself any more trouble.

“...Hey, guess what.”

“ _What?_ What more could you possibly have?” Eita is on the verge of brutally dismembering Satori and burying his body parts in the schoolyard, but that is illegal and he does _not_ want to be arrested all because he acted out on impulse and murdered his friend in an exaggerated fashion.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I saw Kenjirou-kun turn a little pink when you entered his classroom.”

“...Satori?”

“Yes, my dearest friend Eita?”

“You have five seconds to run before I kill you in cold blood.”


	3. autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter! There's flowers and first name-calling involved.

Mindless chatter and barren cherry blossom trees.

These words just about sum up the whole graduation ceremony experience, and as Kenjirou stands with Taichi and the rest of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball club, he is growing increasingly bored with every passing minute. Even his phone can’t suffice as filler while waiting for their seniors to be successfully graduated, and he feels sick to his stomach.

Taichi, bless him, stayed relatively quiet next to Kenjirou. That was one of the many traits the setter appreciated about his friend; he knew when to give his two cents on miscellaneous situations, and pretending to care about their seniors’ annual ritual of graduation gave him enough of a headache. He peered out past the neatly arranged rows of students adorned in white blazers and silently prayed that the ceremony would be over and done with, and he could go home and accomplish something productive in the warm alcoves of his home.

With the chill of the autumn air approaching, Kenjirou finds himself shivering, and he wraps both of his arms around himself. He should have followed Taichi’s example and brought a warm scarf along, instead of freezing under the mercy of the weather like a damn fool. The regular cycles of the seasons in Japan is something Kenjirou has never grown used to, and as he exhales into the heart of his palms, he finds his friend looking longingly at the trees that have yet to attract any tourists this time of year. _Maybe he feels sad about our seniors leaving?_ The brunette thinks, but then the last of the third years are sent off on their future pursuits and the crowd that was once orderly disperses into different small groups, with conversation flowing in between students that Kenjirou has no way of knowing.

Then, he and Taichi spots their seniors gathered at one corner of the courtyard and he motions for them to go and congratulate their mentors, but together with the tall figures of their upperclassmen, there stands Eita with his school tie surprisingly straight for once, and there is a boutonnière woven carefully in between the lapels of his uniform. Kenjirou meddles with his fingers and thinks about how he could have riled him up by pulling that tie of his a few ages ago. He walks in step with Taichi and the rest of their team, taking turns to shake their seniors’ hands. As Kenjirou is the last one behind the line, he has all the time in the world to glance briefly at the string of upperclassmen that taught, suffered and carefully nurtured them in times of doubt.

Ushijima-san. His monster spikes, his left-handed advantage, the unconventional camaraderie he found together with his socially awkward senior. He recalls hours of practice in which he paired up with the ace and tossed him countless balls, where he honed his skill at working together with him in order to utilise him effectively in matches. Kenjirou feels his heart swelling at the thought that there will no longer be such a friendship between the two of them that will surpass every spike that the two of them did together, but time passes, and people move on.

Kenjirou shakes his hand and stops in front of Tendou-san. His uniform is surprisingly straightened out for once, and the brunette does not need to say anything before he is pulled into a bone-crushing hug by the graduating redhead.

“Kenjirou-kun, my favourite junior, how can I ever repay you for these two years?” Satori’s eyes are misty and he scrunches up his nose in sorrow. The setter tries to roll his eyes, but all these experiences that are fresh in his mind stops him from doing so. Rather, he thinks back to when he and Ushijima-san did their perfect spike together for the first time and the bubbly senior was the very first one to congratulate him.

“...I’ll miss you too, Tendou-san.” Kenjirou chokes out from his iron grip and after a few agonizing seconds, he gasps for air after being released. “Also, everyone knows Goshiki is your favourite.” He whispers, with a smirk on his face, while Satori has this way too scandalized look in response to the _facts_.  

Ignoring Tendou-san’s lizard-like screeches of ‘Scary, Kenjirou-kun!’, he takes turns to shake each senior’s hand, as he takes note of drooping eyelids and red-rimmed eyes that decorate each of the third years’ faces. It is certainly a sight to behold, and it takes Kenjirou back to the Spring Preliminaries. All of that is behind them, however, and he would rather come back to the present than to dwell on painful memories. Call it avoidance, but Kenjirou prefers to bask in the pleasantries.

His dress shoes click against the rough asphalt of the courtyard and stops in his tracks when he realises that out of every single student gracing his presence, there is someone missing from the fray, as if to signal some dramatic point at which a fantasy plot would change. Kenjirou casts a few quick glances around the masses of students and with a grunt, shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking around, to search for something intangible. The students of Shiratorizawa are quite the view to marvel at, what with their honorable white uniforms and pride as a prestigious school in the prefecture. However, this pride can only carry them so far, and Kenjirou finds himself avoiding each and every student in his pursuit.

When he comes to a clearing which only a few students stand or sit under a cluster of flower bushes, the brunette spots a lone being standing in the middle of the blooms. His dip-dyed hair makes for quite the dull sight, being surrounded by glaring colors and all, but there is an undertone of anguish to the boy’s hunched shoulders and down-turned head. Before he can stop himself, Kenjirou wades through the flower patch to where Eita is standing and in the process, regrettably steps on a few dirt-smudged petals.

He never considered himself to have a flair for nature and its gifts, but as he recounts all of the days when they’d fought so pointlessly and tried to dig their way under each other’s skin--

_You’d better work your ass off_ _before you even consider giving yourself the privilege of thinking of trying to take over me._

He stops, very abruptly, to stand beside Eita. If the third year had any rejection of Kenjirou being in his field of view, he makes no noise of affirmation or disapproval at all. Rather, he rips a single spider lily off its stem and stares wordlessly at it.

“...Are you going to continue playing volleyball in college, Semi-san?” Kenjirou asks, his frame tense and his tone without malice. The two of them had long dropped trying to claw at each other’s throats and established some sort of strange friendship which the brunette actually sat down some days to think about Eita’s careful advice. Strange as in Kenjirou felt that there was something lurking between the two of them, as if they were sitting in some car without the usual radio music in the background.

“I guess. There isn’t much purpose to me playing it, though.” Eita states, matter-of-factly, as he motions for the two of them to step out of the flower garden and sit underneath the respite of an under-hanging tree that has long bid goodbye to its fruitful days. Kenjirou surveys the expression on his senior’s face, but there is nothing worth analyzing.  

For the sake of it, Eita’s eyes appear reminiscent. As to be expected of any graduating senior set for the world’s stage to see.

“There doesn’t need to be a purpose. You can just play volleyball because you like it.” Kenjirou insists, his words etched in his own firm and rigid self-beliefs. At this, Eita’s eyes are wide yet forgiving, and he glances at the second year with a newly-flourished determination in his irises.  

“...And with that, I feel defeated by you again.” Eita’s features relax and he lets out a breathy laugh, which makes Kenjirou sweep his gaze over the ground in dismissal. The third year leans backwards, with his hands tracing circles over the cold stone bench they are sitting on. The brunette eyes the thin lines of veins that have sprouted like weeds along them, with sunken-in parts and rough edges that have culminated from hours of arduous training. If they weren’t sitting in the middle of the courtyard after an especially sluggish graduation ceremony, Kenjirou would have believed wholeheartedly that they were standing in the gym, a volleyball grasped in Eita’s hands and wise words tumbling out of his mouth for his successor’s ears only.

His heart clenches with nostalgia for the third year and with something else he does not identify straight away. He feels like a protagonist starring in a film meant only to touch on nostalgic themes, but he detests the role.

_Damn it, why does this feel so wrong? Wasn’t our parting supposed to be on a high note?_

He feels his insides crumbling like burning buildings and curses himself for being so emotional, but when he finds Eita staring at him with a whole other intensity; different from the pointed glares and upturned lips into smirks and scowls they had shared so often, the courtyard suddenly seems too small for Kenjirou’s liking.

“...Is it selfish of me to say that I want to be more than just your upperclassman?” The brunette’s jaw goes numb and he nearly jumps up from his seat in shock, but then he keeps himself grounded enough not to make a spectacle of himself. Red spills all over Kenjirou’s cheeks like rude paint on a canvas and his long-forgotten nervousness is back to haunt him again.

“More than just your upperclassman…? In what definition, exactly?” He retorts in lieu of stuttering like a lovesick teenager, which is what he is in a literal sense.

“Your pick. What do you want us to be?” Eita is staring at him with a warm smile, which is way too much fluff for what he can handle at this very moment. Memories of old locker room arguments and toeing the line of being physically aggressive fade away as Kenjirou holds his gaze steady and exhales out, light puffs of air now apparent. The temperature is slowly dipping towards the extremes and he rubs his hands together more violently, desperate for some kind of warmth.

The second year looks around the courtyard to admire the view, taking his sweet time to come up with a response. In the process, he feels those same hardship-ruined fingers take up his own callused ones and share some warmth between the two of them, and Kenjirou sighs.

“Kenjirou. Let’s head inside before it gets too cold.” Eita tugs on his hand and the brunette nods, a healthy splotch of red color spread over his cheeks and a smile sufficient to put Eita’s heart at ease. Brisk walking towards the gym where a post-graduation party will be held for the third years, the second year feels the grip on his hand tighten, as if the culprit has craved this for entirely too long.

“Eita?” Kenjirou starts, uncertain of his actions, but as the third year turns to face him with an impossibly soft look in his eyes, reassurance serves as a very powerful tool.

“Yeah?”

“Give me your scarf, I’m cold.” A devilish smirk makes its way onto the brunette’s face, and Eita’s face spells out the word _betrayed._ Never in his life had he been so let down by anything, and yet, as Kenjirou tries to hide his giggling with the back of his hand, he feels so weak for soft, straight-cut bangs and warm chocolate eyes.

“You brat, I thought you were gonna tell me something meaningful!” He ruffles Kenjirou’s hair in retaliation and receives a yelp in response, as the second year scurries to put his hair back in place.

“Well, it was getting too sappy, and I had to humor myself a little.”

“I’ll show you sappy!” Eita lunges for Kenjirou and he manages to dodge, the two of them playing yet another cat and mouse game as they chase each other towards the gym filled with exuberant shouting and party streamers.

In the midst of a rewarding day quickly turning night, Kenjirou, as he successfully makes it to the gym only to be hoisted up by Eita in front of everyone’s stunned expressions and leering eyes, thinks to himself that maybe he can tell his significant other those three words one day.


	4. winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally come to the end of this story, and for the people that follow this story's development, thank you all for staying and leaving kudos and comments. The motivation that went behind this chapter can be credited solely to one of the people on the My Hero Academia Discord server that I'm in, and I couldn't thank him enough for appreciating my writing and supporting me when I felt down. Thank you Ian, for giving me the inspiration to finish this last chapter. 
> 
> While writing, I had tons of questions. How would ______ in the story go down? Did it seem too OOC for Semishira? Eventually, I worked through them, and here we are. 
> 
> Just a heads up: prepare your tissues for this chapter; this one's a real tearjerker. It involves Christmas chicken wings and heartfelt confessions of love among lovers.

Everything is physically perfect in the warm alcoves of the apartment Eita owns--there is a medium-sized Christmas tree set up in one corner, adorned with twinkling lights that scream that the green and red holiday has arrived and streamers that hang over the entrance and doorways of the homely interior. His friends and loved ones are going to visit him soon, together with buckets of chicken and food in their wide-open arms. Still, his stern eyes are trained on the inanimate tree in front of him, as he squats in front of it trying to sort out his thought processes. Surprisingly, for such a joyous occasion as Christmas was, his emotions were jumbled up, and his stomach clenched as Eita tried to figure what exactly was wrong with him for feeling that something important was missing. 

As he grunts while standing up, he hears padded footsteps behind him and turns around without a second thought, a troubled smile embellishing his features. Eita knows that every inconspicuous movement of his will be picked up on by Kenjirou if he so much as glanced at him, and so he does not bother with the pleasantries and sags right against his partner, amid cries of surprised acceptance. 

“Eita, you’re heavy! Get off me.” Still, firm arms grab him by his wrists and hauls him to the pull-out couch facing the television set, and the two of them melt into each other in lieu of the less than desirable temperature. The ash blonde’s arms flop onto the side of the couch and he sighs contentedly, no unnecessary speech passing between them. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“Mmh...Christmas is meant to be a happy affair, right?” Kenjirou makes a mess of Eita’s hair as he runs his fingers through his curls and rests his head on the taller man’s scalp, breathing in the thick smells of his shampoo and the earthly scents that make up the ridiculous job of his dip-dyed hairdo. 

“...Yeah, I guess.” His head cocks to the left in confusion, trying to make sense of the enigmatic question. If anything, the holiday season was nothing to marvel at for Kenjirou; from young, he’d go out with his family for a fulfilling meal then they would simply exchange gifts afterwards. It was nothing big to scoff at, really. 

“...Well, I just think that there’s something missing, y’know?” Eita tips his head backwards to look at the brunette, their eyes meeting in the middle and both of them ceasing conversation just to admire each other’s features. The taller of the two, with adoration and love clear in his mind, stares intently at the now pinkish brown bangs that fall over soft eyes as well as the refined cheeks that frame Kenjirou’s face, as well as thin-rimmed glasses that encase rigid brown eyes in normal situations and fond gazes in intimate scenarios such as this. Even though the two of them have spent so much time together and shared the heartfelt secrets that they were dying to tell  _ anyone _ , Kenjirou lets out an annoyed sound at his beloved’s attention and masks his rapidly reddening cheeks with the back of his hand. 

“...If you’re gonna say something sappy, get it over with. I already have enough of you on a daily basis as it is.” However, the hand slowly drops to draw intricate and continual patterns on the palm of Eita’s right hand, and a hesitant smile appears in the midst of a ruddy complexion. At this, Eita can’t help but smile too, and so he pulls the two of them up to sitting positions and holds the brunette in his arms. Kisses are pressed to the border separating cotton sweater and bared pale skin and Kenjirou lets out a less-than-graceful yell, but relishes in the affection showered towards him. 

“Guess who just got back from prison--!” A rude foot kicks the door open and a head bursting to the seam with bright red hair pokes in through the opening. For being intruded upon so bluntly, Eita releases his hold on Kenjirou and stands up, heading to the door where he flashes a warm smile at Satori. Then, a clean smack is delivered to his forehead, and the redhead clutches his head, groaning in pain and cries of  _ how could you do this to me, Eita, I’m your best friend, this is treason  _ are tuned out. 

“That’s reckless, Satori. Someone could have gotten injured.” Wakatoshi sounds out from behind him, carrying a bottle of what could be considered expensive alcohol in all of their eyes. Two buckets of chicken are clasped in Satori’s arms, and are nearly dropped when he swings them around as if to welcome himself to the household. 

_ There he goes again,  _ Eita thinks fondly.  _ Just barges in the room and captures everyone’s attention, as if he owned the place.  _

_ Never change, Satori.  _

The dip-dyed blonde is brought back to his high school days; back when he first met the rambunctious middle blocker in that gym on a rainy day, the first banter that they ever shared over the most delicious choice of ice cream, and the first time he bore witness to the emotional barriers that guarded his best friend’s heart. 

But as he places condescending hands on his hips and sighs at how Satori makes his  _ compulsory  _ comments on every single piece of new fixture or decoration that are a sight for his sore eyes, Eita notes the previously gelled up hair now spread over a tall head and wide-looking eyes marveling and trying to squeeze artistic value out of the plastic baubles and wreaths. There are black piercings in each of his best friend’s ears and although he never really considered himself a lover of accessories, he does appreciate the wild look that Satori has modeled himself into. After all, what was living life without taking it in a unprecedented direction? 

As the rest of his friends--Reon, Hayato, Jin, Taichi and Tsutomu--stream in from the kicked-in doorway, he bids each of them a hearty welcome and as he curls up in the couch again with an appeased Kenjirou, Eita watches as the party goes into full swing with more of his childhood friends and family joining him for the joyous occasion. Somewhere at some unspecified time, music starts to bounce out against the walls and it adds immense flavor to the party-goers, food and spruced up home interior. Along the lines of feeling a little tipsy, Eita is dragged into a huge conga line snaking around the rooms of the house, and with so many of his loved ones grinning and laughing and singing, he starts to join in the fun too and sways along to the carefully picked music. His heart feels full and his head even bigger, and the worries that he fretted over before have now been thrown out of sight and out of mind. 

With the ticking of the clock and the hours slowly lulling by without a care start to pile onto the stress of the party, bigger numbers of people start to share teary goodbyes and tight bear hugs, and the crowd that had once graced the presence of Eita and Kenjirou’s humble abode start to diminish. Slivers of moonlight soon start to cover people’s toes like delicate traces of stardust and as he is faced with the reality that all of his closest friends are leaving, his nose gets a little scrunched up and the words that he wants to say are choked up in his throat. 

But it doesn’t matter.

Eita was never really a person who got along well with his words anyway. He can save them for another occasion when he doesn’t have to feel so emotional over surprise present exchanging by Hayato or be awed by Taichi’s baking. 

The group of ex-Shiratorizawa teammates stand by Eita’s front door, with all of them huddled together as if preparing to face age-old rivals or just simply enjoy volleyball all the same. It was the sport that brought them together; it would remain a sport that would  _ keep  _ them together. 

“‘Toshi! How about you start us off by saying another one of your short, motivational speeches?” Satori is a ball of excitement and sunshine, even when his red-rimmed eyes are brimming with tears and his mouth all wobbly, threatening to give way or fail to deter the strangled cries that spill out of the redhead’s mouth. Eita squeezes his shoulder comfortingly and the latter nearly crumples from the weight of it all. 

“Motivational? But I only say what is the truth.” Wakatoshi’s mouth turns downward in a concerned frown, and he brings up a hand to swipe at Satori’s emotion-heavy tears. Satori, in turn, wipes at the tears streaming down his face using his shirt, but a new set of tears linger at the sides of his crimson cheeks. He laughs breathlessly at his futile attempt and links his fingers together with the national player’s own roughened ones, but his own thin digits get the soft treatment and the two of them share a tender second in the face of this fervent moment. 

“Just get on with it!” The team choruses, and Wakatoshi is pressed to start. 

“In a span of a few short years, we’ve all been to Nationals a few times, albeit a bit short, but we’ve all gained experience there. I am a witness of your growth, as a person and as a volleyball player. Therefore, I am saying this with conviction: With your abilities, is there any reason to panic?” 

Silence falls over the room and as the volleyball players (some previous and some awaiting the future) glance at each other with tear-stained cheeks and feverish smiles, they chant the same thing yet again. 

“Volleyball is the only thing on your mind, isn’t it?” Giddy laughter and genuine, sweet smiles are passed around for a second gift exchange, and Satori bursts into happy tears once again. 

“But Satori is on my mind constantly, so I would not think that volleyball is the only thing on my min--” A long and deep kiss is planted onto Wakatoshi’s mouth, and he lets out a gasp of shock at the sudden love directed towards him. The national player cards a hand through Satori’s hair and as he smiles against his lover’s supple lips, he holds him close in his state of vulnerability. Across from him, Eita can see his own lover roll his eyes, but secretly, he knows that Kenjirou would crave for that kind of romantic gesture from him. 

“I guess it’s about high time that we make our leave.” Jin reminds them, rather regretfully, that the day is not young and sleep is a necessity for those of them that need it. The one that needs it the most shakes his head violently and bows his head in sorrow, vowing to keep this Christmas celebration imprinted in his memory and for his heart to never stop loving and dreaming. He peels himself away from Wakatoshi and throws his arms around Eita’s shoulders, effectively knocking the breath out of his lungs but makes him feel warm and fuzzy all at the same time. If there was a limit for stupid smiling, he feels like it would be broken two times over in the span on one night, surrounded by all of his supportive and loving friends and family and getting to spend the last few hours together with Kenjirou; well, it was quite the bonus. 

As they go the same way they came in ages ago, they leave behind the distant memories of time spent together, food shared sitting by the kotatsu and the contagious peals of laughter breaking out at every fleeting moment. Eita watches their backs as they leave and wave until every last one of their friends have disappeared from view. Even until then, he looks forward to waving goodbye, as if he were waiting for them to reappear once again, with the same spiked juice and spicy chicken wings for the next time that they meet again. 

Kenjirou sidles up next to him, with his heavy-lidded eyes and he buries his head into the crook of Eita’s shoulder, all while murmuring into the soft cotton of Eita’s ugly Christmas sweater. He sighs contentedly and turns the shorter of the two around to face him, but when he sees that the brunette’s eyes are half closed and hands are grabbing at the folds of his sweater, Eita sets aside all plans for curling up next to the kotatsu and gently shakes Kenjirou to catch his attention. 

“‘Jirou? Do you wanna go sleep?” In response, a muffled groan rips itself from lip balm-smooth lips and before Eita can ask what’s the matter with him, Kenjirou straightens himself out like a iron pressed to clothing creases and fixes his stare right across from the ash blonde’s own dark eyes, which makes the taller man almost trip over his house slippers. “Kenjirou?” 

“...’m not sleepy...dance wit’ me, Eita.” There is a drunken glint in Kenjirou’s moonlit eyes and the smile that hangs loosely off of his face is far too carefree in the eleventh hour of the night, and as the shorter man attempts to guide Eita’s hands to his waist, giggles spill like a loose tap from Kenjirou’s mouth and his hand is lowered to cup at a backside hugged by a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. With an incredible blush set high by his eyes, Eita is thrown into a whole different kind of crisis when he discovers that the sweatpants belong to him, and that Kenjirou is looking at him as if he were the reason for his very existence. With a newfound determination, he arranges the both of them in a proper slow-dancing position and he takes the brunette’s hand. Somewhere in a faraway house, piano notes are recited and melodies start pouring from within the instrument, and Eita is overcome by the giddy weight of it all. 

They do not slow-dance, but instead sway with the impossibly soft music. And that, he thinks, is quite enough for the both of them to handle for one day. Despite the mess scattered around them, both by their and others’ doing, his heart swells with every step that he guides the two of them into, and for just that period of peace, he does not speak. 

Eita lets his heart speak for itself just once this time.

He starts whisper-singing into Kenjirou’s ears some meaningful love song that he’d chanced upon while surfing the web for the nearest grocery store one day, and as he touches on each tone and pitch perfectly, he remembers duly that Kenjirou is a sucker for romance. So, he sings and he brings along the brunette for the ride, because there is no other way to go for them. Kenjirou, in the soft pillars of the moonlight shadowing the windows, looks enough to be ethereal, as if a few years ago their relationship consisted of nothing but bickering and sparring and clashing--they’ve come so far, and Eita has never been more proud of himself and Kenjirou for taking the step that they’ve been avoiding and making excuses to shied away from. 

At some point during midnight hours, they stop swaying and just stand there firmly enveloped in each other; their clothes (the thing separating them from skin-to-skin contact), the scents they possess (now a mixture) and how they will never be sick of coexisting within the same universal space. Eita interrupts the unsaid conversation lingering in the air between them by cradling Kenjirou’s head in the heft of his palm, the same way he would treat a new volleyball or a cherished lover of his, and planting a long and lasting kiss to the top of his forehead. At this, half-drunk Kenjirou pouts, and the demand for kisses increases exponentially. However, Eita must get the both of them to bed. 

He hoists Kenjirou up into the pit of his arms and carries him to the bedroom, sliding him into the heated blankets and pats his feverish-like forehead softly. Eita prepares to leave and clean up the mess in the living room on his own, but a hand pulls at his sweater and he turns around. 

“...Eita?” Kenjirou mumbles, drowsiness lining the dip-dyed blonde’s given name. 

“Hm?” 

“...Don’t leave me.” The brunette rolls on his side reflexively, again trying to mask the rosy tints blossoming along the tips of the brunette’s ears and cheeks, but as Eita clambers into the bed without a second thought, he wraps his arms around a warm Kenjirou and attempts to lull them both to sleep by stroking his curls affectionately. However, the shorter of the two has other ideas, and adjusts himself so that the full view of Eita’s upper body is displayed in front of him and with the entirety of Kenjirou looking down at him with hunger-pang eyes, the light of the living room casting a glamour behind him, he draws in a shaky breath. Even though Eita’s hands itch to tuck themselves around his significant other’s body, he knows himself that drunk brunette automatically means trouble, and so he tries to wriggle out of the rigid iron stare that has fixated on him. 

“Kenjirou? You’re drunk, we have to get you to bed--” 

“Eita Semi.” Eita freezes immediately. The only times that Kenjirou ever uses his full name are dark, dark times, and by that he means that he is in a whole lot of trouble. His mind reels back to all of the things he did today, but all he did was entertain their guests and nurse maybe one or two cups of alcohol. What could he possibly have done to infuriate the likes of Kenjirou Shirabu? 

“...Yes?” 

“You were so busy today, rushing from place to place to talk to some relative or a random friend of yours. Sure, we got to see our old teammates and even promised them that they could come next year, but where were you when I needed you?” Kenjirou jabs an accusing finger in Eita’s chest, but the omnipresent blush high on his cheeks tells a different story. “I thought Christmas was about spending it with your loved ones.” The effects of alcohol on him have never been sweeter, as there is quite the incredible pout on the brunette’s face and despite the hissy fit that he is throwing right now, Eita lets out a relieved laugh and pulls Kenjirou down so that the two of them are pressed up against each other and they feel so very warm, in the aftermath of the chaotic party and with the soothing noises of cicadas clicking outside. 

“What about now? Aren’t you spending time with me right now?” With that, Eita connects his lips to Kenjirou’s and delights in the taste of rum-flavored eggnog. The kiss deepens and he finds himself getting lost in a world of his own, the taller of the two flipping them around so that he can admire and stare shamelessly at his lover. “I never said that I didn’t love you, anyway.” 

“You didn’t even say the opposite, asshole.” Kenjirou averts his gaze, but Eita’s the wiser of the two, and he positions himself so that he can give away another one of his heavy kisses. The brunette is now somewhat sober and the thorn-pricked side of him starts to show itself through his furrowed eyebrows and disbelief-ridden gaze. 

“I’ll say it now, then, if it suits you.” Kenjirou looks up at him expectantly, a curious flame lighting up his eyes and Eita’s whole world. His throat is choked up and his palms are damp with cold sweat, but he wants, desperately, to reciprocate all that the shorter man has done for him. 

“...Kenjirou Shirabu. When I first met you, you were a fledgling in Shiratorizawa Academy, and nowhere near full potential. However, you dared to challenge me, and even though we bickered a lot like immature children, you gave me the motivation to keep going, even after you took my position.” Kenjirou lets out a frustrated sound, but Eita slaps a hand over his mouth and presses on. “When we lost our only chance to play at Nationals again, I could feel your frustration and sadness from all the way here. Still, you never stopped trying to improve yourself, and got accepted into one of the most prestigious universities. When we got together a few years after the third years and second years both disbanded, the banter didn’t stop, but I had you by my side to cheris--” 

“Eita?” Kenjirou’s voice is wary, and he retreats further into himself for fear of what the situation may bring. 

“Let me finish, alright?” Eita draws in a deep breath, and this worries Kenjirou even more. He wants to sit up and look directly at him, but in lieu of the dead serious face set in front of him, Kenjirou settles down and awaits the outcome of their conversation. “You confessed to me out of the blue and even now, I’m still shocked by it. I still can’t believe that you would nurse such a strong crush on me, and even though I’m proud to call you my boyfriend, I still feel like something’s missing.” 

“...Is that what you were talking about earlier?” Kenjirou replies tentatively, fingers running over Eita’s knuckles. 

“Yes. That’s why I ran outside earlier and got you this.” Eita fumbles around in his pants pocket and pulls out a small maroon box, his slender fingers running circles on the exterior of it. He cradles it in the palms of his hands and brings it to Kenjirou, who cups a hand over his mouth in shock. Eita’s expression is of a grim one, but his heart is running a million miles per second. 

“Eita...are you for real?” He breathes out a nervous laugh, but Eita’s eyes hold their stare and all of a sudden, the room feels ten times smaller and Kenjirou’s heart ten times larger. 

“...Kenjirou Shirabu. I’ve known you for ten years and for all of the 4 years that you’ve spent together with me, you’ve never once let me down on purpose. Even though you might be difficult to deal with at times and we bicker so much, I’ll gladly spend all of my time with you. Even though you swear and curse your misfortunes, you’ve always been there for me when I most need you. Even though you frown and anger is what you feel the most...I have never stopped loving you with all that I have. 

I’m asking you now to do one very self-sacrificial thing for me, for us now. I know that you are impossibly competitive and get too riled up when people challenge you, but this isn’t a challenge. This is a proposal for the both of us to share--both literally and on paper--that I’m asking of you.” 

Eita pauses for just a second to let the weight of his words settle in, then he gears himself up for the final blow to Kenjirou’s poor, weak heart. 

“I promise that I’ll take care of you in illness and emotional fatigue, and whatever problems we might face, you are the only one that I’ll spend it with willingly. Whether you feel your worst or your best, I will always love and cherish you, regardless of our age or circumstances. Kenjirou Shirabu, will you  _ marry _ me?” He finishes with the age-old question and awaits, with tense and withdrawn breaths, the answer that will determine both of their fates in the near future. Eita looks up from his position on the ground where he has lowered himself onto one knee and presented the ring to Kenjirou, but when he sees the myriad of tears running down his beloved’s face, Eita stands in concern, but then Kenjirou is babbling and muttering amid his choked voice. 

“...E-Eita--you...why…” Kenjirou is sobbing with fervor by this point, and his teeth are clenched together in intense happiness. All Eita can do this point is to smile sheepishly, because all of the words have been squeezed out of him. 

“That a yes?” The ash blonde cocks his head to the left playfully, and all of the air is knocked out of him as Kenjirou crashes into Eita and throws his arms around him to embrace his soon-to-be husband.

“I love you a lot, Eita...of course I’d marry you…” The brunette mumbles, the red hue set on the tips of his ears and the cheeks that have been pulled apart by all of the frowning and smiling because of Eita, and the latter feels the weight in his stomach give way and be replaced by an amassing of butterflies and hopes for the future. In between giddy laughter, wide smiles and the dimness of the room, Eita holds Kenjirou in his arms and holds him bridal style, swaying the two of them around the room and actively ignoring his cries of  _ put me down, just because I’m marrying you does not mean you can actually carry me _ , and he is too dizzy with joy to care about the late hours or the fact that the both of them have work tomorrow. 

The only thing now on his mind is that Kenjirou loves him as much he loves Kenjirou, and that the both of them are getting married. The government will be involved, and all of their friends will look ridiculous in suits all waiting for the newlyweds, but the most important thing is that Kenjirou will be his for all of eternity. 

Regardless of the changing seasons, Kenjirou Shirabu is his to keep, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch the 50% Off reference? Kudos to you if you did :)


End file.
